Innocence Sacrificed
by Raven4030
Summary: 16 year old Damian Shepard struggles to survive the battle of Mindoir. He is hunted by a ruthless Batarian sniper out for revenge. Rated M for language, adult themes, and some violence.
1. A Batarian's Revenge

_So, this would be my first fan-fic. Universe, races, and Shepard property of Bioware.__ Named characters are original creations. Reviews will be welcomed!__ Was intended to be a one-shot but the story kind of got away from me, so I hope you enjoy it and stick with it to the end._**  
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><p><strong>Innocence Sacrificed<strong>

_**June 30 2170 CE, Mindoir Colony, 0100 Local Time**_

Darkness prevailed over a small colony, out on the edges of the interstellar Empire established by humanity. Decades ago, human kind found ruins on Mars that pre-dated the oldest cities on Earth, and within discovered radical new technologies. Most important among these discoveries was a rare, previously undiscovered element. Using this element, one could control the very fabric of space-time. It was hailed as the greatest discovery in human history, and enabled an unprecedented explosion in technology, allowing humans to travel faster than light and become a true space-faring species.

Over the years, humanity would establish various colonies and make contact with a wide variety of alien races, eventually joining the galactic community properly, but this expansion has not been without conflict. The chief rival for control of a segment of Citadel Space referred to as the Skyllian Verge is a four-eyed race of aliens called the Batarians. Ever since the Citadel refused to declare the Verge a zone of Batarian interest they have waged a proxy war through pirates and slavers against the fledgling human empire.

This was all just history to young Damian Shepard though; he was just a sixteen year old boy with dreams of being rich, famous, and all sorts of other things. Like most young men he found himself up late at night, using the colonial extranet connection to browse for entertainment when he should be in bed. His room didn't have much in the way of furniture: a bed, a desk, a shelf for school books, and a computer. The walls were gunmetal grey, a standard room within a pre-fabricated structure, decorated with digital frames that usually showed the heroes of some action vid, but at night or when his parents were away were switched to more alluring images of beautiful, scantily clad Asari with come-hither looks… in all a very standard room for a 22nd century teenager.

His home was a standard pre-fabricated unit. Usually such units were clustered together in a sort of makeshift 'city', but his parents opted for the seclusion of the outskirts, and had set themselves up as farmers. They made a good living tilling the land, growing food, and even raising some livestock for protein.

He glanced up out the window and saw various lights shooting across the sky, he had an interest in astronomy and was expecting this event. A meteor shower, prompted by a comet passing through the system, an event most paid little attention to unless they had a special interest. That was at least half the reason why young Damian was up at this hour, and he quickly opened up a nearby closet. Within, he found his telescope, a basic model with computer assisted rotation, the star charts within regularly updated through a wireless extranet connection and adjusted for the current location of the telescope in space determined by linking with comm-buoys, a gift from his 14th birthday and a must-have for any star-gazer away from the home world. The relative isolation of his home also made for excellent viewing, with the distance from the lights of the main 'city'.

The only other possession of note within that closet would be an incredibly expensive Volkov sniper-rifle. His father had been a marine sniper for years before settling on Mindoir with his family, and had taught Damian everything he knew about shooting. Although he loved guns and believed in the alliance, his ultimate dream was to explore the unknown, get a job on some survey ship as a navigator to find new worlds. Earlier that evening his father looked rather pale, and handed the rifle on to his son saying that he "felt it was time to pass it on," over the objections of his mother who didn't think Damian was old enough to be with a rifle, but eventually gave in.

The weapon itself was unique even among its line. It had the standard white frame, with black barrel and stock. His father had showed him how to strip it, how to clean it, how to adjust the stock for his height, and had gotten good enough to put a round through a Varren's eye at 300 meters. Though the weapon dated back to a few years after first contact, weapons technology had not changed at all in that time, meaning that this gun was still state of the art. The most unsettling thing about the weapon though was on one side, carved into ceramic, a running tally of kills. It was unnerving knowing exactly how many lives his father had taken, Damian rationalized this, saying that those were mostly slavers… but he still wondered why his father wanted to bequeath this weapon to him NOW, of all times. Was his father dying? Did he think that his son had changed his mind about military service?

As he grabbed his telescope to go outside he noticed something was odd about the meteor shower. Normally, most of the meteors would burn up within a few moments of hitting the atmosphere, and they had hit 20 minutes earlier than he had expected. What really chilled his blood was that some of the meteors seemed to be getting bigger. Without thinking he exchanged the telescope for the rifle, hit the safety switch on the side so the normally compact weapon could extend to its full, lethal length, and pointed it through the window, peering through the telescopic sight. He looked at the shapes of the "meteors", and realized they looked more like ships. His thoughts started running at a mile a minute as he analyzed the situation in the way his father taught him to:

_There is a meteor shower approaching, so it'd not be safe for atmospheric entry. No transports expected for the next few days, if a distress call had been sent then he'd know about a crisis before a relief force arrived, they were off major trade routes so couldn't just be a random stop-over, and the incoming meteor shower means unannounced arrivals would want to play it safe and wait to land unless they wanted to use it as cover, which means…_

"DAD!" he cried out. His father immediately rushed into the room. A tall, lithe man, not incredibly muscular but still strongly built.

"What do…" his father paused when he saw his son holding his rifle and looking out the window with it at the meteor shower. His instincts raced and he snatched up the weapon, within a few moments of looking where his son had been aiming he had reached the same conclusions. "Go to the armory, grab everything you can, I'll radio the main colony and…" his father was cut off by the sudden crack of a rail-gun.

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><p>The plan was brilliant in spite of, or perhaps because of, its simplicity. Alliance patrols in this section of space were infrequent, and the nearest response fleet was about two days away. The colony was large, but the garrison force wasn't strong enough to repel a determined assault. Using the meteor storm as cover the primary force would get close to the colony and bombard the communication's relay. While the sudden loss of communication would provoke the deployment of a response team, the alliance wouldn't know how many ships to send. With luck, this would cause an over-reaction and leave other colonies vulnerable. However, they couldn't risk somebody on the outskirts sending in vital information, or even playing hero. That is where Farthan's team came in.<p>

They had landed far enough away that even standard patrols were unlikely to spot them. His team, consisting entirely of former Special Intervention Unit operatives, the best soldiers in the galaxy, marched for weeks on foot. They knew exactly how long it would take to get into position and do their job, and as expected their estimations were exact. His team had split up to take the other settlements, leaving this one to him and his spotter Chambak.

Farthan had found a nice little hilltop and then looked at the structure in front, it wasn't anything special. One of the windows were on and he saw through his scope a human, looked like a child… teenagers didn't sell well as slaves because they tended to be defiant. Pre-adolescents could be made to serve, post-adolescent and they could be broken, but during that time trying to control them was like trying to control a blood raging Krogan. It was possible, but was usually more than it was worth. Still, he his job wasn't to grab slaves, he took aim and just before he fired he froze.

He watched as the teenager shouldered a Volkov series sniper rifle, but this particular rifle looked familiar. Battle scars showing its age, and the markings carved into the side listing out kills. Of all the humans Farthan fought, he only knew one that actually carved their kill count into the weapon instead of just using a marker. After studying the boy's features for a few more moments, familiarity surged through him and his blood began to boil in rage. Then the boy's father walked in, and in that moment, he realized… it was HIM.

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><p><em><strong>September 14, 2166, Tibet Colony, 1538 Local Time<strong>_

Farthan squinted in frustration, that damn sniper has been picking off his men for the past three hours. Damned humans, for all their disadvantages, this one could shoot… or maybe they hired some Asari mercenaries. He wouldn't be shocked, blue whores have been making these cockroaches of the galaxy their new favorites ever since the Turians got their asses handed to them. His SIU team was drafted to assist pirate and slaver raids against human colonies, and right now a small part of him was starting to regret that.

His most common assignment was chasing down runaway humans and putting a round in their legs so they couldn't get very far before pickup, or just kill them if it was too much trouble. He longed for a real fight, a way to prove that the humans were overrated and that a good Batarian soldier could grind them into paste, and when he finally gets his chance he gets pinned down behind a ruined metal wall by a sniper somewhere across a bombed out no-man's-land. He might take a chance with just gunning the sniper down, he was sure his reflexes were better, but the shooter had hid himself within a large structure and was smart enough to change firing positions, and there were a lot he could choose from. Furthermore, this sniper had prepared the building before his arrival and used an old sniper's trick where they kept to the shadows in places where the light couldn't get in, effectively allowing them to see out without a counter-sniper seeing them in turn.

Basically, this was the absolute worst case scenario, and it didn't help that he had about twenty minutes before he had to run since the Alliance had arrived and was cleaning house. The larger raiding ships had been obliterated but some of the smaller shuttles were still running around, evading alliance fighters as best they can. Not trusting these idiots, Farthan bribed a Quarian to pick him up. It was simple enough offer: Farthan had a ship, he'd give it to the Quarian if he arrived at the designated coordinates at a certain time. The ship was set up with a self-destruct timer, so if Farthan didn't deactivate it in time it'd explode. The little space gypsy was desperate and so agreed to the terms.

He looked at his spotter, his brother. They had joined SIU together and both managed to not only survive the training but made it into the unit. They worked so well together that they were paired into a sniper team. Forshan was a bit of a hot-head, but did his job incredibly well. Together, he and Farthan probably could have beat back the entire Alliance military… if they were officially allowed to get involved.

Farthan poked out briefly and then ducked down just as another round hit his cover. The sniper would relocate, but would set up in time to take them down before either he or Forshan could find new cover. They learned that when a third member of their group, one of the pirates, had made a break for it after that shot and received a hole in the head for his troubles. If they had more pirates they could just use them as shields and make a run for it, but that wasn't likely to happen. Farthan keyed his radio, the universe owed him a favor by now anyway and maybe he'll get lucky…

"This is Hunter 1 to any Batarian forces in the area. If you're out there and have it I need smoke at my position." He hoped that there was SOMEBODY out there with what he needed, if not then he and his brother were both as good as dead.

"You know, even with smoke if he has thermals he'll still be able to kill us," Forshan stated matter-of-factly.

"Yah, but it'll take a few seconds for him to turn them on, plus we've got better barriers than that pirate there,"

"Phasic rounds to the head tend to be lethal, barrier or no,"

"We'll be fine,"

Suddenly Farthan's radio crackled to life, finally the universe was doing him a favor it seems, "This is _Zaysh's Revenge_ to Hunter 1, we'll be passing over your position and can drop some smoke on our way out but I'm not stopping to pick you up with those frigates overhead, and don't bother asking for fire support as we're empty"

"We've got an exit, just drop it and go," _you worthless asshole_ Farthan had to avoid spitting out. This was why he hated working with pirates, no loyalty, no sense of community, no sense of duty, just profit and where profits fail keeping their own skin intact. Though, at least these scumbags were predictable in their uselessness. He watched as the ship rocketed by and dropped its payload of smoke in the designated no-man's land. Farthan peered just enough over the barricade to see the smoke filling the courtyard,

"OK, on three you go first, there is a building over there we can use for cover, once we get in there we can pick off the sniper then make for the extraction point. Move in 3… 2… 1… GO NOW!"

Forshan darted out first, then Farthan. They moved as fast as they could, running for the comparative safety of another ruined pre-fabricated structure, he nervously scanned the left, watching the smoke fill the area. His brother was ahead and nearly safe… 50 meters, 40 meters, 30, 20, 10, 5…

...a loud crack echoed again, the smoke billowed as a small sliver of metal sheathed in phasic jacketing tore through the air at over 1% the speed of light, the round hit his brother, his shields flickering for a moment to slow the round but failing to stop it completely, the sliver flattening as it hit the side of his helmet. Even though it was physically impossible for him to notice, Farthan swore he could see the crinkle of his brother's helmet as the tiny slug flattened against the ceramic shell, eventually breaking through and splitting Forshan's head apart. Without stopping Farthan himself passed his brother's lifeless body and made it into the cover afforded by this ruined building.

Rage engulfed him, fueled him, but thanks to his training he channeled that rage, he swore he would avenge his brother. He focused his mind, and analyzed the building, he could see all the sight lines, he knew what areas would mean death and what areas would be out of the line of sight of his target's hide. He slunk his way around and managed to find a nice spot on the second floor to try and locate his prey. Farthan peered through his scope, and after what felt like an eternity of searching he could make out his target just barely through the remaining wisps of smoke.

The enemy sniper wore N7 armor, the mark of the best the Alliance could offer. Farthan hated to admit it, but he held a begrudging respect for this particular breed, and were almost a match for the SIU… almost. Today, he would prove it once more. The sniper was facing away from him, he could see the Volkov series rifle gripped in the sniper's arms, his scope was zoomed in close enough that he could make out the scratches in the side. Some alliance snipers liked to track kills, but usually used a marker, this one actually carved his kills into the rifle with a knife, something he had never seen before. He placed his crosshairs over the face of this human, and could make out all the intricate details that made this particular human distinct from the rest. Farthan slowly squeezed the trigger, this man would pay for killing his brother today.

"Fuck these humans all to hell!" his radio suddenly screamed as he saw another of the pirate vessels screaming through the sky. This one was on fire unleashing the last of its payload wherever it could, one rocket flying right at Farthan's position. _You stupid bastard…_ was all he could think before he was suddenly engulfed in flame, and claimed by darkness.

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><p><em><strong>June 30 2170, Mindoir Colony, 0126 Local Time<strong>_

Farthan rubbed the scars he received that day. His brother's killer had escaped, and he himself barely made it back to the rendezvous. He killed the Quarian who helped him escape, never did learn his name. For his own failure in that raid he was removed from the SIU, they stopped just short of executing him as a 'traitor' to his people, and so had to join up with these loathsome pirates and slavers, but eventually founded his own mercenary company. They were low key, and consisted only of former SIU members. They primarily hired themselves out for raids on human colonies, he was nothing if not loyal to the hegemony in spite of the injustice of his discharge. The profits were good to, but he was less concerned with that and more concerned with helping to expel these inter-stellar cockroaches from territory that rightfully belongs to the Batarians.

As he sighted down on the man who had killed his brother, this creature who thinks he is allowed to live a normal life after all he has done? No, nobody gets away, especially not this human. Flashing back to that moment, that lost opportunity four years ago, he squeezed the trigger.

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><p>Damian Shepard watched as his father's head came apart, standing there in shock as his body fell to the ground. He dropped to his knees and looked on in horror.<p>

"Frank! Damian! What's going on!" his mother called, causing him to bring his head up for just a second.

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><p>Farthan waited for his weapon to cool for a couple seconds before sighting the teenager. He changed his assessment from earlier, having this kid as a slave would be sweet revenge… he would be his own personal slave. Suddenly the boy's head perked up in response to something and his spotter made a report,<p>

"That other contact is moving on thermal, should be coming into range now," Chambak reported

"We're going down there," Farthan stated

"Wasn't the plan to kill everything that moved?"

"This is personal, I want those two alive if possible,"

"You're the boss."

They gathered up their equipment and sprinted down the hill, it would take them a couple moments to get down to the structure, but Farthan was confident they could get in before the humans escaped. Getting the man who killed his brother was satisfying, taking his family as his own personal property? This was a chance he couldn't pass up.

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><p>Damian's mother shrieked when she saw her husband dead on the ground, and began crying as her life seemed to come crashing down around her. Damian snapped out of it as he realized they were both still under the sniper's crosshairs.<p>

"We need to go, the men who killed dad are still out there!" This seemed to snap his mother out of it, as she suddenly had an overwhelming urge to protect her child, her only progeny. She grabbed Damian by the hand to lead him outside, the young teenager hesitated only a moment so he could grab his father's rifle and then bolted out the door with his mother. They only got a few feet when another shot rang out, toppling his mother forward as the round shattered her leg.

"Run Damian! Go! Now!" she cried, urging her child onward. The teenager saw two armed Batarians approaching, one of them leveling a rifle at him. He didn't want to leave his mother behind but he still had no choice, he ducked and ran to the side around the corner of the pre-fab. Behind their home was a heavily wooded area, he had been warned not to go in there because these woods tended to swarm with varren, particularly at night. Probably why the Batarian sniper hadn't come this way.

He ran a bit into the forest and then stopped and turned around, he raised the rifle to get a good look at the two Batarians. As he gazed into the four eyes of this… monster… he burned the face into his mind. Normally he couldn't tell one Batarian from another, but this one… this one he would remember. His father had warned him about kinetic barriers and such, and knew that his first shot would just alert the Batarian and likely not kill, plus his buddy would certainly cut him down before he could make a second shot. So he turned and ran deeper and deeper into the forest, his movements followed by the howls of startled varren. He only paused once as heard another shot ring out, and then kept running.

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><p>Farthan cursed as the teenager bolted into the forest, watching the kid disappear into the night. He knew that those woods were overrun with varren, the kid would be food in 20 minutes if he wasn't already. A bit of a shame really… at least he had the woman. Chambak held her down as she screamed, her leg was badly torn up, a real pity.<p>

"Hrm, didn't know human women could look so good," Chambak said. Farthan let out a disgusted grunt,

"For the love of… what kind of deviant are you? What? You screw Varren too? On second thought, don't answer that, don't want to know."

"Oh, who is going to tell, besides, we've been out here for…" a sudden shot left a smoking hole in the ground next to the woman and the spotter,

"You're not raping her. Patch up her wound, pick her up, and we'll head back to the main settlement to meet up with the main force. We're done with our sweep anyway."

"Fine, whatever you say…" Chambak muttered something about a 'hard-assed killjoy' before slapping some medi-gel on the wounded woman. He pulled out a tranquilizer and shoved it into the struggling woman's neck, he wasn't sure what the dosage required would be but even if it didn't knock her out it would at least make her tired enough to not struggle. He grabbed her and hefted her over her shoulder, following Farthan as they marched towards the main settlement where the battle for Mindoir had already begun.

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><p><em>And that concludes the first chapter, input (in the form of reviews) will be appreciated! Constructive criticism not only welcomed but encouraged.<em>


	2. Freeing the Mother

_Chapter 2, wanted this chapter to be longer but I felt that it just had to end where it did for dramatic reasons.**  
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><p><em><strong>June 30 2170 CE, Planet Mindoir, Location Unknown, 0238 Local Time<strong>_

The howl of wild varren and other predatory species echoed throughout the forest. Damian Shepard had been running for his life for a good hour now, fumbling in the unfamiliar darkness. He knew he couldn't stop and rest, if he did he ran the risk of being attacked by wild animals and his only protection was his father's rifle. He could shoot, and had sometimes helped his dad with repelling attacks, but with no backup weapon he could only hope to take down one or two before he was overwhelmed and turned into a meal for some damn fishdog.

His mind raced, trying to figure out where he was. His omni-tool was back at home, he had no map, no compass, and the canopy of the forest was so thick that he couldn't even use the stars as a reference point. Whenever his mind wandered he would see his father's head splitting open like a melon, blood and gore peppering his room. He tried to arrest his thoughts but every time he did his attention would turn to the screaming of his muscles, the pain in his legs from having pushed himself too hard, forcing him to shift his focus for sheer survival and once more reviewing the death of his father and his only look at the killers.

He had set himself on getting his revenge an hour ago, and every time his mind drifted that desire was slowly nurtured, a ball of hate settling in his gut. His foot kicked into something hard and he tumbled, catching himself on a tree and pulling himself against it. He was tired, his body exhausted, and in spite of the dangers he just couldn't push himself to go further, he needed to rest. Damian shut his eyes, listening intently to the sounds of the forest, calling upon everything he was taught over the years about survival. Nothing stirred in the bushes, for the time being he could plan.

Damian analyzed his options: the slavers would make a sweep out here and in the cold of night his heat signature would stand out, his only saving grace being the large amount of predators making any such efforts difficult and, he hoped, more trouble than he was worth. He set his head against a tree, trying to plot out his course from his house, but to no success. He knew what direction he was going when he first started running, but after that it had become a blur, and these trees all looked so similar that he couldn't even trust he was facing the same direction anymore.

He assessed his surroundings, trying to figure out where to go. In the calm he thought he heard something, a low rumble like thunder, but it was not Mindoir's rainy season yet. These were the sounds of explosions, echoing through the forest and providing him direction. Soon however, the "thunder" was accompanied by yet another sound: the howl of varren. He turned just as sharp fangs and a thick, slobbering tongue came darting at his neck, he raised his arm in defense, giving the animal something non-vital to latch on to, his father's rifle flying from his grip in the process. Howling in pain, Damian scrambled for the rifle that had fallen just out of reach. He edged himself closer and managed to pick up the rifle just as another varren came charging out of the bushes. Damian fired a clumsy shot, the rifle bucking in his grip and nearly flying from his hands again, but by some miracle the round struck home, ripping through the animal's body and leaving it lifeless.

The other varren still latched onto his arm, striving to rip it off, Damian grabbed the action on the side of the rifle and braced the stock against the ground. With a hard tug he worked the bolt, quickly dumping the excess heat before taking the hold of the pistol grip once more and clumsily aiming his weapon at the animal currently mauling him. With some effort he manages to jam the still-smoking barrel of the rifle against the black and white scaled fishdog and pull the trigger, another round ripping through flesh and seriously wounding the animal, though not killing it. The force of the impact rips the varren free, and Damian uses his now free hand to quickly work the action on the rifle again before taking aim and firing a quick if clumsy shot, finishing the beast off. Working the bolt again he glances around, quickly setting the scope of the rifle to no zoom as his father had taught him and peering through it, eagerly searching for a target though finding none.

His immediate situation secure for now he sets down and rips apart some of his shirt, using the fabric to create a makeshift bandage, tying it tight enough to stay on his body but not enough to cut off blood flow. The wound was not that bad fortunately, his forearm had caught the teeth and by some miracle most of the arteries and veins were intact, though it was still incredibly painful to use and in any other situation Damian would seek the local hospital, though the best he could do was push on. He wasn't a soldier, the pain was distracting and he couldn't push it out of his mind, but he had to move on anyway, rifle held loosely in one arm as he walked towards the sound of explosions, still willing to fight it out in spite of his injury.

The smell of blood would no doubt bring more varren, so he had to keep moving, and in spite of the pain picked up his run again, driving himself toward the sound of explosions, and he hoped, towards his enemy.

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><p><em><strong>June 30 2170 CE, Planet Mindoir, Primary Settlement, 0437 Local Time<strong>_

"Move it bitch!" Farthan shouted at his newest acquisition before driving the butt of his sniper rifle into her back, careful not to strike so hard as to cause damage. He watched the streets carefully, the sounds of assault rifles firing in the distance still ringing clear. The resistance here must have been heavier than they believed if the fighting was still going on. He looked for the command shuttle and found it parked next to what had been this colony's waste management center. Although Batarians were the primarily represented race, he noticed smatterings of others: Turians, Salarians, a fair number of Krogan, and he thought he saw an Asari running past as well. The one leading this particular operation just happened to be a Turian by the name of Julius. Farthan marched up to the shuttle with his spotter to report on his success in eliminating the perimeter posts.

He walked past a few fellow Batarians and the occasional alien… he was shocked by the complete lack of vorcha on this raid, usually they'd be sent into where fighting would be thickest to soak up rounds in order to minimize casualties. He put the thought out of his mind as he went to report. He walked up to a Turian in mostly black facepaint, with only a bit of white along his mandibles who looked at him coldly and then pointed at the woman behind Farthan,

"I told you not to take slaves! We don't have enough room to deal with the outliers!" he barked.

"Personal matter, none of your damn business, I'm taking her with me, and I did what you asked. Now give me my credits so I can get off this rock," Farthan retorted. He did what he was paid to do, no sense sticking around.

"Fine, you want to keep the human then keep her out of the way. If she becomes a problem it's your problem. However, you're not leaving yet, as we've still got a battle to fight and I'm not letting you SIU guys take off. We need every man we can get to break this deadlock," Julius retorted.

"I did what you paid me to do, if you want me to stick around I want double the rates we discussed, with half in advance. That's in addition to what you already owe me. Not to mention salvage rights in our AO."

"Fine, whatever, but I expect to see your men in the thickest fighting. Oh, but you'll have to talk with the other guys in the area about salvage rights, can't promise they'll cooperate but I'll tell my men to back off."

"I have a way with words. And don't worry, we'll do our jobs as long as the credits clear. Speaking of, I believe you still owe for clearing out the perimeter." Farthan watched as Julius opened his omni-tool and made the transfer of 600,000 credits into Farthan's company account. He walked away and snickered to himself, he loved to negotiate with Turians in the middle of a battle, always so more willing to just give in to his demands rather than let people die who could have been saved if they weren't hanggling. He keyed into his company frequency,

"Hey everybody, we're sticking around a while, meet at the ship."

After a few moments Farthan faced his team. Though his ship was initially parked on the outskirts, he left a couple men behind to move it to the spaceport here after it was captured. Counting himself there were only eight of them, but all were the best in the Terminus, professional killers formerly of the Batarian SIU. They were all kicked out for one reason or another, but they all were experts at what they did. He and Chambak were the snipers, others filled out roles in demolitions, close quarters combat, first aid, and terror tactics as well. He pointed to Chambak and Lornan, the second being very good at breaking down the will of slaves.

"I want you two to stick around here and make sure this human whore doesn't escape. The rest of you with me, we're not done here."

"I thought the contract was just to take out the perimeter," spoke up his demolition's expert, a man named Chellish.

"Change of plans. We're getting an extra 600 grand to stick around plus salvage rights in areas we fight in to be split with those who help us. Needless to say, anybody other than us who walks into our AO dies a heroic death. Understood?" His team nodded their assent. Normally, soldiers getting left behind grumbled but these two seemed to relish their job, Chambak for reasons Farthan couldn't think about without his stomach turning.

"Alright everybody, move out."

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><p><em><strong>June 30, 2170 CE, Planet Mindoir, Main Settlement Outskirts, 0753 Local Time<strong>_

Damian Shepard laid at the edge of the forest, the main settlement not too far away. His arm still throbbed from the attack but the pain had improved. He was fortunate that he managed to make it through the rest of the forest without getting into more trouble, and the sounds of battle from the main settlement would keep most of the animals at bay. He was tired, having been up all night running and just trying to stay alive, he was also hungry, and otherwise utterly miserable. Only the desire for revenge kept him going. He tried to remember all the little things his father had taught him. Though those lessons had been primarily in stalking more feral prey, surely those same principles can be applied to animals with four eyes that walk on two legs?

He moved slowly, keeping low as he carefully examined his surroundings. He was fortunate; the main battle was on the other side of the settlement. Though relatively new, the settlement had existed long enough to expand into a respectable size, about as large as an outlying suburb would be back on earth. The prefabricated huts stretched out along a valley, tall mountains flanking along the southeast and northwest sides, nearly joining together in a V at the northeast corner of the settlement. The forest he was in stretched along the south side, with roads snaking along flat grasslands leading out of the valley on the northeast side and on the southwest side to reach outlying farms.

The slaver raid had landed mostly along the southeast and south sides, forcing people who wanted to flee towards the narrower route on the northeast. Though the forests predators kept most people at bay, a slaver raid was about taking as many people alive as possible. They would no doubt have more forces at the northeast end to catch anybody trying to flee along that road, with the mountains being mostly impassable without special equipment. This was also why the kill teams along the periphery were important, with the bulk of the attack pushing from southwest to the northeast they couldn't risk the perimeter settlers forming a militia and attacking them from behind, meaning Damian had the element of surprise. Of course, most of this was unknown to the youth who simply counted his blessings at being able to slip in undetected.

The young Shepard edged forward and, certain the coast was clear, made a dash for the nearest pre-fab unit. He found an open window and tossed his rifle inside before pulling himself up and into the building. It was a small grocers shop, many of them were set up along the borders were the outlying farmers could sell their wares without having to push their way into the main settlement which could some days become quite congested with various people going about their lives. He had gone into town on many occasions for schooling, or simply hanging out with friends and knew the area quite well. At the center of the city was the oldest building which housed the officials who ran the colony, it also happened to be the tallest construction. It only stood at four stories high, but it was visible enough to provide a handy point of reference, and an obvious sniper's nest.

Damian peered through his scope and sure enough, there was a Batarian perched up there, taking pot shots from his position. His instinct was to fire, but the lessons taught by his father kicked in, and he knew he had to wait. He had a target of his own, and while he knew that every crack of that Batarian's rifle meant the possible death of one of the defenders of the colony, he also knew that if there was anybody nearby and he was heard he'd have to run off and his own target would get away. He had a mission, and the mission came first.

He thought about the layout of the town and where to go next. His instinct was to check the shopping district where weapons were sold and hope that there was something left, but a part of him said that it might also be swarming with more raiders. In any event, if he did his job right he wouldn't need more than one shot.

He instead started marching towards the space port where he figured the slavers would have landed after the initial assault. He hoped that his target would either be there getting ready to leave or in the thick of the fighting. If he didn't find that particular Batarian there, the spaceport was on his way to the battlefield, so it would be no great loss and it also made it so if the fight ended before he could get there he might bump into his target on the way. The streets in this part of the city were mostly empty, save for the rare patrol that he easily slipped past. Most of the doors were unlocked, their owners having fled, died, or been taken captive. He realized that the space port was the most logical place for them to take their captives, though he didn't entertain any illusions of being able to liberate anybody. He had no armor, no shields, and no formal training; just his father's admittedly high quality rifle. He was fairly certain he was crazy for even attempting this revenge mission, but then he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't try. Yet another lesson his dad had taught him: "If your mind is set that something needs to be done, you do it or spend the rest of your life wishing you had."

As he picked his way through the city, he noted how everything seemed relatively intact. There were the tell-tale signs of battle throughout: bullet holes, scorching from grenades, and the rare discarded weapon, but for the most part the buildings still remained in one piece. More gruesome were the bodies scattered about, almost all of them wearing the armor of the local Marine detachment. Every once in a while he'd come across the odd civilian, but he imagined most of the civilians not lucky enough to run away were rounded up by slavers.

He ignored the revulsion churning up inside of him to press forward ever deeper. His already slowed progress was slowed by even more patrols. He eventually had to stop, a large group passing through the street, and one he couldn't slip by undetected, forcing him to wait and hope he wasn't discovered. His breathing slowed, and he unconsciously held his breath as the group came by, chattering in various languages he couldn't understand. Without his omni-tool to translate for him he had no way of knowing what they were saying. He slowly raised his head to peek out the window of the building he was hiding in, trying to get a glance at the group:

There were eight of them, six Batarians, a Salarian, and a Krogan, all of them armed with low quality arms and armor. He watched them for some time, they had stopped and were chattering away about something, the Krogan apparently becoming agitated (or, maybe that was just how their language always sounded). One of the Batarians began to turn in his direction and the chattering became even more tense, he readied his rifle, ready to fight to the death if needed, slowly counting away the seconds.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, what was probably only a couple minutes felt like several hours to him. The alien chattering had died down, and he chanced another peek: they were gone. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and then dashed across the street, only to be greeted by the staccato of an assault rifle.

The shots impacted the ground at his feet, either as a result of the poor accuracy of the crappy weapons the slavers were using or an intended outcome Damian couldn't tell. He didn't stop however; and just kept going. A shout of alien words were uttered in his direction, but he just kept running. If he stopped he would either be killed or enslaved, he chanced a glance to his right and saw the group of aliens start to give chase. He immediately went over the mental map of the settlement in his mind: there were many alleys and different places he could go to at least break the line of sight, and the bulk of the Krogan meant he could at least lose the most dangerous of the pursuers quickly enough.

The slavers all ran out ahead, the Salarian taking a lead being the most agile of the group. Damian darted into and alley and quickly scaled a small divider linking two buildings together before leaping down and darting right, the Salarian still behind him and followed by the Batarians. He heard the Krogan shout and break off, but Damian knew the area well enough to avoid his route getting cut off. The alleys were all identical: brown dirt flanked by the angular walls of the pre-fabs raised slightly off the ground with struts that also helped absorb any unexpected seismic events.

Though there was a plan to the construction originally, various changes that had to be made during the initial settlement combined with unplanned expansions left the city a haphazard mess. This was deemed acceptable since defenders would be better able to set up ambushes in the event of an attack, a notion that has proven false by this recent raid. For Damian's purposes however, it allowed him to evade his pursuers without getting shot. One by one the Batarians fell, but the Salarian still persisted, occasionally firing a shot from a pistol in an effort to slow Damian down.

The young teenager leapt onto another section of wall, this one providing access between two prefabs and giving him a way to scramble up to the second level. He ran towards another of the pre-fabs and jumped a gap, not thinking but just trying to get away. He ran past patrols which then attempted to join in the chase, he had to lose these slavers quickly. Leaping across another gap he crashed into the second story off another of the structures littered about the landscape, darting quickly down the stairs and into a back-alley, leaping another wall and over the other side, rolling with the impact. He heard the sounds of footsteps behind him and closing fast, the unmistakable sound of that accursed Salarian slaver who was still on him.

Deciding on a different approach, Damian turned around and ran towards the footsteps, the butt of his rifle connecting with the slaver's face, staggering him backward before Damian re-oriented the rifle and fired at point-blank range. Being untrained, even this point-blank shot was not lethal, but it connected with the alien's shoulder, sending him flying back to hit a nearby wall, clutching the wound in agony. Without thinking Damian cocked his rifle and ran off, figuring a wounded enemy would slow down pursuers more than a dead one. Turning a few more corners he was gone, his pursuers far behind him now.

The boy looked around for a moment, trying to figure out his position, he saw the central government building still standing tall in the middle of the settlement. He had a vague idea of where he was, and his chase seems to have brought him fairly close to the spaceport. With a quick adjustment he made his way forward. Patrols on his route had gotten heavier than at the outskirts, whether as a result of his blunder or because of the proximity of the slaves he didn't know. Fortunately, they were still thin enough for him to slip by with a little ingenuity and a healthy dose of luck.

He looked around and slipped into the office space for the transit authority overlooking the spaceport itself. The slavers didn't bother to set up anything here, the space lacking in all but the most Spartan of necessities for the smooth operation of the space-port including a desk, a filing cabinet, and a computer with an extranet connection. The only attention to luxury within this office was that it was located three stories up, overlooking the spaceport itself… though this was primarily so that whoever was in charge here could physically see each ship coming in without having to leave his office.

This little room made for a good perch, and the space itself was unguarded, all the aliens focused on keeping an eye on the atrocities below. Damian thought he was prepared for anything, but what he saw when he looked out that window and into the large landing area below sickened him. Rows and rows of tiny cells were lined up, each with large life-support units on the side. Rectangular slits with bars on the sides were open, allowing those units to remain inactive when on a planet capable of supporting life. Peering through the scope of his rifle, Damian saw the faces of the settlers, most were strangers but once in a while he'd recognize one through the bars: a friend, a teacher, a shop owner, a local musician, all of them crammed with dozens of prisoners, more than he could imagine.

Each unit had been designed with the ability to accommodate up to 140 fully grown humanoids, though this was largely done to account for unit degradation, species requiring more than normal life-support capacity such as Elcor, or other events that might dramatically lower the maximum capacity of the life support unit. The cells were initially designed to hold prisoners in deep space facilities and to make transport easier, though it can't have escaped the minds of the designers that slavers might use these to hold their catch. Even if they realized this, they would have been shocked to learn that this particular group of slavers took the advertised capacity literally and crammed 140 people into a space that was expected to only ever be used for 25 people in a worst case scenario.

Aliens of various species, primarily Batarians with a few Krogan, Turians, and the odd Salarian mingled about below. They all appeared to be on alert, keeping a close eye on their cargo. Every so often a group would walk in with a few more humans and cram them into already overstuffed cages, while a squat Volus kept a running tally on a datapad. The sight sickened Damian, but he couldn't fight all of these slavers on his own. Even if he timed it right and started a slave revolt… there just wasn't any choice in the matter. He diligently scanned each of the Batarians, using the variable zoom scope to scan each face and determine their identity before moving on. None of them were his target, he continued looking around, checking the open ships which had a few crew idling about inside.

The minutes ticked by, he continued his diligent work. On the south end of the spaceport, to his right, he noticed another two Batarians looking around, one looked familiar, what was most interesting though was who they had with them. He recognized the form of a woman, they seemed to be hitting her and screaming at her. He remained transfixed, and as the woman's face revealed itself the sudden familiarity dawned on him: it was his mother.

* * *

><p><em><strong>December 25 2169, Planet Mindoir, Shepard family home, 0923 Local Time<strong>_

"Damian! Time to wake up! We're all waiting for you!" cried out feminine voice from the other room. Damian Shepard rolled out of bed groggily, and looked at the time. He cursed what for a teenager is a horrifically early hour but managed to pull himself out of bed anyway. He quickly got dressed as his body rallied the energy he'd need for the day and stepped out into the living room, eager as his mind caught up to him and reminded him what the day was.

Sitting on a small couch was his father: looking like he was chiseled out of marble for some Alliance propaganda piece honoring heroes of wars gone by. Square jaw, hair close cut… the ideal Marine. His mother stood nearby, laughing with him at some joke that Damian never heard. Her hair was brown and fell halfway down her back, long and flowing. She always seemed to have a smile on her face, especially in the presence of family.

It was Christmas day, a day that had changed from its traditional Christian roots into a more secular celebration of family, life, and (some would jokingly state) commerce. All over Alliance space family members and friends exchanged gifts every year on this day, and the Shepard family was no different. A plastic tree was perched in a corner, resembling an Earth pine tree, and underneath small parcels of wrapped gifts lay in wait for the lucky recipient.

They each took turns, ripping apart the wrapping in order to discover what they had received: practical gifts for dad such as tools and parts for maintaining his rifle and the various farming equipment used to work the land, gifts of a more feminine nature for mom such as jewelry, and gifts befitting a teenager for young Shepard consisting of video games, not to mention updated star charts and astronomy books. The real prize for Shepard however, was a reproduction of Copernicus's famous work: _On the Revolution of Heavenly Spheres_. Though centuries old, it still remained a vital piece in the history of astronomy, and something Shepard himself had long sought. Though digital copies were easy to come by, a printed version was rare and, like the paper versions of all famous works, is considered collector's items and possessing it a mark of scholarship.

He spent the day with his family, going into the city and taking in movies, enjoying meals in restaurants, and otherwise having fun. What farm work needed to be done could wait: especially as 22nd farming had largely been relegated to supervising automated machinery that handled what would normally be labor intensive work, a human presence not being strictly necessary. Jokes, laughter, and just the general fun of a family on Christmas joining with those of other happy families milling about the colony brought a jovial atmosphere to the normally quiet backwater.

The hours ticked by, the sun moved overhead, and gradually the light gave in to darkness. The Shepard family returned home, enjoying a quiet family dinner consisting entirely of native grown food grown by their efforts. The next day it would be back to the normal routines for the adults of supervising machinery and making periodic adjustments when the hard work would cause the equipment to occasionally fall out of calibration. In a week Damian himself would have to return to school. However, none of these thoughts were on the mind of this happy family. And none of them dreamed that in six months this happy family life would be destroyed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>June 30 2170 CE, Planet Mindoir, Spaceport Transit Authority Offices, 1123 Local Time<strong>_

Rage burned within Damian, rage at what these animals were doing to his mother, rage at how these animals could possibly do this to another sentient being. He quickly sighted one of the four-eyed bastards and moved his finger to the trigger, ready to kill him, and then his partner would die, and then his mother would be able to run and then…

…and then she'd be captured again and thrown into one of those cages. He wasn't sure why she wasn't in there to begin with but didn't particularly care, all he knew was that he had to help her somehow. The rational part of his mind slowly pulled him back from the rage and let him take an honest assessment of the situation, analyzing the slaver camp the way he would analyze the bodies in heaven.

The slaver force consisted of dozens of individuals, mostly Batarians, Krogans comprising the second largest group, and a smattering of others. If they didn't know he was running around the city by now they soon will, and if he fired it wouldn't take them long to track him. He might get away with one shot but with the second they'll pinpoint him, surround him, and either kill him or stick him in one of those cages. There was almost nothing he could do for his mother, but he couldn't just let these monsters keep her either.

He readjusted the rifle on his shoulder; he'd only have one shot. He looked through the scope, but the picture was blurry, tears rolling down his cheeks in defiance of what he was about to do. He wiped his eyes and aimed his rifle again. He forced himself to hold back the tears, keeping his picture clear. The crosshairs danced on his target, his breathing slowed as his finger wrapped around the trigger, he'd only get one shot, and it wouldn't be an easy one with those two Batarians moving around. He was also worried that he might end up triggering the reflexes on their barriers and spoil the shot, but there was little he could do about that except pick his moment carefully.

One Batarian seemed to beckon to another, and this gave him his chance. He focused his attention through the scope, his mother's face clear in his sights, the cross-hairs resting on her battered and bruised head as she sat tiredly from the abuse.

Damian squeezed the trigger.

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><p><em>So, reviews are appreciated! Just something to tell me people are enjoying the story and want me to keep going as well as constructive criticism.<em>


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